


Pudding for Spock

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Christmas, Food, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock samples Christmas Pudding for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pudding for Spock

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [ksadvent](http://ksadvent.livejournal.com) calendar prompt - #17: Domestic!fic where Jim decides to make Spock Christmas pudding (it's a British thing) because he finds out Spock's never had it before.

Jim couldn’t remember quite how the conversation swung around to the subject of food. His head was too muddled from the Krilli ale that he and the rest of the away team had been drinking, since they’d taken shore leave. The shore leave had, of course, been Bones’ idea, decreeing the day off as a medical necessity for the mental well-being of the Enterprise’s crew. The Krilli ale had been purely Scotty’s idea, however.

The kindly chief engineer had been in need of a good stiff drink after seeing Spock momentarily naked while the Vulcan bathed in the Krilli lake nearby. He’d been laughed at by both Bones and Jim for that one, yet Scotty claimed he was scarred for life, unless he could forget the sight via a steady cavalcade of strong drinks. He’d already made his way through several shots of Krilli Scotch, which he claimed was not a patch on the stuff they distilled in Edinburgh, before finding the ale was more to his taste, redolent of home and misty days in the dales of Scotland.

That had led to Bones opining about the wide open plains of Georgia, and the taste of his momma’s homely cornbread, sweet potatoes and buttery black-eyed peas. Jim had then professed interest in the corn-bread, stating that the corn reminded him of Iowa, that rolling expanse of civilisation and endless cornfields. He remembered just how sweet some of the corn was, soon interrupted by Scotty recalling endless meals of fish and chips, haggis with roast tatties and fried pizza.

Each of the crew members, even Spock, had cringed at the mention of haggis. Unlike Scotty, who could cram down the haggis like it was going out of fashion, none of the others appreciated the taste nor the smell of it. They still remembered the time when Scotty had cooked some in his quarters and how the smell had lingered in the ventilation units and the Jeffries Tubes for weeks on end. Bones had finally complained when his patients began to be disturbed by the smell. Scotty had not attempted to cook haggis ever again, further chastened by the threat of being thrown in the brig personally by the captain if he ever tried doing so again.

Uhura then opined about the delicious meals available in Africa, smiling over fried plantains and yams, coconut pie, fritters and futari. Up until that point, Spock had remained largely silent, and when Jim turned a question about Vulcan foods upon him, the Science Officer replied, in flat tones, about Kreila, a bread-like food that was common to Vulcans, Shur t'bertakk, which Spock described as soup, something he himself greatly enjoyed. and Klitanta k'forati-mun.

“I should be very interested in trying some of your Earthly delicacies,” Spock then said, turning to Jim first. “I do not wish to experience haggis again, however.”

“That is very offensive, sir,” Scotty immediately slurred, from over his mostly empty glass of ale. “Haggis is the staple of life, where I’m from. Ye don’t know what ye’re missing.”

“I think that’s the point. We do know, Scotty; we still remember the smell. And none of the rest of us are Scottish,” Jim reminded him.

“Don’t remind me about that damn smell,” Bones said, with a frown. “I swear it’s still lingering somewhere in my Sickbay. It’s like a vengeful haggis-y ghost.”

“Heathens,” Scotty shot back. “Blaggards.”

And then Scotty pitched forward, head coming to rest solidly upon the table, snores soon filling the silence between them. Bones immediately checked him over, doctor’s instincts taking over immediately. Jim snorted out a laugh at that, to which Bones gave him an affronted look. Jim turned his attentions away from the doctor, turning them instead upon Spock.

“Fine, I'm sure we’ll rustle up something for you,” Jim told him. “No haggis, though.”

“That will be acceptable, Jim,” Spock said, casting a glance towards the still sleeping Scotty.

When Scotty didn’t stir and protest about the haggis again, Spock turned his attentions away and sipped at his ale fastidiously. Conversations then turned to Christmas, excited chatter reigning supreme about upcoming festivities aboard the Enterprise.

~*~*~*~

Christmas drew nearer and everyone was busy putting together their plans and organising parties throughout the width and breadth of the Enterprise. Only Spock seemed to treat the entire affair with something akin to disdain, if indeed, the Vulcan could be described as feeling something as base as that. Jim took it upon himself to change the Vulcan’s mind.

“You’re still coming to my quarters on Christmas Eve, aren’t you? Remember how we were talking about food the other night and we agreed you‘d try some Earth food for a change?” Jim asked, hopefully. “C’mon, Spock, it’ll do you good. Put some hairs on your chest.”

“I do not wish to have hairs upon my chest, Jim,” Spock said, dryly. “But I am still going to honour your offer, anyway. I can assure you that I had not forgotten.”

“Okay, great,” Jim said, suddenly uncertain as to what to even give Spock to eat. “What do you like again?”

“I would not know, Jim,” Spock replied. “I thought the purpose of this exercise would be to introduce me to Earth food. It would hardly be an introduction if I already had sampled some of it.”

“Right you are, Spock,” Jim said, with a disgruntled harrumph.

“Give him some Christmas puddin’, Cap’n. Ye can’t get more Christmassy than that, especially doused in brandy,” Scotty called from nearby, from where he‘d heard their conversation.

“Christmas Pudding, Scotty? I’m not even sure what that is,” Jim replied, confused.

“It’s an English thing, sir. Pudding with lots of fruit and sweet spices in,” Scotty replied. “Usually dome shaped, with brandy poured over it and flambéed.”

“Flambéed?” Spock asked, curiously.

“Set alight, sir,” Scotty said. “It really enhances the flavour, so long as ye don’t burn your eyebrows off, o’ course.”

“Quite,” Spock replied, raising an eyebrow at Jim as though he didn’t know what to make of the whole thing. “I have no idea what this Christmas Pudding even is.”

“You got me there, Spock. It’ll be a learning experience for me, too,” Jim replied, with a grin and a shrug. “Okay, a Christmas Pudding it is. D’you have the recipe by any chance, Scotty?”

He turned hopeful eyes upon Scotty who sighed and said - “I’ll see what I can do for ye, Cap’n. It can’t be that hard.”

Spock didn’t look as though he quite agreed, throwing an almost doubtful look at Jim. Jim pretended to look hurt.

“I can cook,” he said, defensively.

“That will remain to be seen, Jim,” Spock replied, an affronted look marring his features.

“I can, too,” Jim rejoined, with a snort. “You’ll see.”

Spock merely harrumphed before he walked away.

“If he don’ like it, Jim. I’ll eat it for ye,” Scotty offered, hopefully. “I'll eat pretty much anything.”

“Don’t I know it. Scotty’s turned up more times in my Sickbay with food poisoning than any other crew member combined,” Bones added, as he strolled up in time to hear Scotty’s comment. “What the devil are you threatening to eat this time anyway, Scotty? Just so I know what I‘m in for. You‘re a lousy patient, I‘ll have you know.”

“Christmas Puddin’, Doctor. Ye’d like that. Might put a smile on your face,” Scotty said, with a grin at the scowling doctor.

“Probably would if I knew what it was,” Bones replied, with a confused look shot at Jim.

“You’ll see. Perhaps you should come as well. Invite the whole crew, watch Spock try and eat some Christmas Pudding,” Jim said, with a chuckle. “We should sell tickets.”

“He’s a Vulcan, not a circus act, Jim,” Bones said. “Although, that would be some act I’d pay good credits to see. Pointy eared bastard trying to choke down a pudding.”

Jim laughed at that, even as Spock turned a glare upon the doctor.

“I shall pretend I did not hear that, Doctor McCoy,” Spock said, in level tones.

“Hear what?” Bones asked, an innocent expression crossing his face, eyebrows twitching upwards slightly. “I didn’t say anything.”

Spock grunted and turned back to his sensor display, leaving Bones to exchange an amused look with Jim and Scotty behind the Vulcan‘s back.

*~*~*~*

The scents of cinnamon, fruit and other sugary spices wafted around Jim’s slim frame as he worked alone in the kitchen. The heat surrounding him was making his forehead slightly damp and he used the back of his hand to wipe away the sheen of sweat.

He worked diligently, following the old recipe Scotty had managed to unearth from Enterprise-knew-where, and the captain was mostly satisfied with how it was turning out. He wasn’t looking forward to the flambeing part however. Scotty had told him that the ideal Christmas Pudding took months to mature, to which Jim reminded him that they didn’t have months, they had hours, quite literally. The chief engineer had shrugged quite noncommittally, before he’d said that the captain should just get cracking.

And so Jim had, finally mixing the last piece of candied fruit into the mix and slopping it out into a pudding bowl. He placed it proudly into the over and settled back to wait.

*~*~*~*

Spock stared at the flaming pudding with a clinical eye, brown-eyed gaze fixed upon the dancing flames. Jim looked so proud at his achievements that even the scientifically minded Spock could not dampen the captain’s obvious enthusiasm and pride over his handiwork.

“Fascinating,” was all Spock could offer, turning his gaze to Jim’s. “How do I eat this pudding, Jim, considering that it is blatantly on fire?”

“It’ll go out in a minute,” Scotty said, waiting until the blue flames diminished, alcohol all but burned away by the dancing flames, proving the engineer right.

Bones served up the pudding, handing out portions to all that were there, comprising of Jim, Spock, Scotty, Chekov, Sulu, Uhura and himself. Although they each had a portion, they still waited expectantly for Spock to dig his spoon into his own glistening slice of pudding, fruit spilling from the moist surface as he did so. The spicy aroma was redolent in the air as Spock lifted the spoon to his lips. He chewed thoughtfully, eyebrows raised, before he turned his gaze to Jim. The captain was staring hopefully at the Vulcan, relief sagging through him when Spock nodded clinically.

“This is quite pleasant, Jim,” Spock said. “Although I think the food on Vulcan is far more preferable however.”

“Unbelievable,” Jim said, as he stared at Spock in disbelief, amidst laughter from the rest of the Bridge crew. “Might I remind you, that it was you who agreed to this.”

“Indeed, and I honoured that agreement. It still does not remove the fact that Vulcan food is far more superior,” Spock replied, looking affronted.

“Just eat your pudding, you green-blooded hobgoblin,” Bones said, with a ferocious scowl at the Vulcan.

Surprisingly, Spock did, plunging his spoon into his pudding and chewing thoughtfully at the resultant mouthful. Bones’ eyebrows raised in surprise at the complete lack of argument he’d received.

“That’s only the second time I’ve ever gotten the last word,” he commented, smiling slightly at Jim.

“Lap it up, Bones. He won’t let you get away with it for long,” Jim replied, with a smirk as he clapped Bones on the shoulder.

Bones had no choice but to agree with him, even as he sampled the pudding for himself. Unlike the still prissy Vulcan, the rest of the bridge crew enjoyed Jim’s culinary efforts, more than making up for Spock’s earlier reluctance.

~~ the end ~~


End file.
